The River's Enemy
The River's Enemy

Oh, I would bring you
A draught of this beauty,
You who sit crouched
By the high city wall!
I am a monarch,
And this is my booty.
To keep, I would share it,
To hoard, I would bear it
Away where the shut-in ones
Struggle and fall.

You see but patches
And shreds of the skies,
I own a dome
Of that exquisite blue.
Mine is the west
Where the red sun dies,
The east where he rises,
That chief of surprises,
To smile on my kingdom,
And diamond the dew.

Green Things Growing
The Green Things Growing

Poor, and a beggar,
I claim as mine own
That sweep of the river,
Broad miles of the hills;
For over them often
My spirit hath flown.
The wild flowers blowing,
The green things growing,
For me the whole woodland
Its perfume distills.

God giveth the earth
To those who most love it.
O ye of the City,
Speed forth from your gates,
And stand on the hill-tops
In wonder above it!
A song’s in the air;
The earth everywhere
Radiant in glory,
Your worship awaits!

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© 2001, Lynn Waterman